


Borderland

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:19:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6000547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So James is going on holiday with Inspector Lewis</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borderland

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extract from a work in progress I gave up on a while ago, tweaked so it stands on its own.

So James is going on holiday with Inspector Lewis. Like all the milestones in their relationship it seems to have happened by accident. A passing comment over a pint about wanting to see the land of his inspector’s youth, (‘Middle Earth, isn’t it?’) and here they are; bags packed, rooms booked, indulgent smiles from Laura and Innocent. It is lovely and an exquisite sort of torture. 

They take turns driving, bicker over the music, jointly take issue with the satnav, get lost a couple of times as a consequence and the sun has already set when they reach their bed and breakfast. So it is almost a shock, when James steps outside for a smoke the next morning and is faced with the intense beauty and elemental magic of the landscape spread out before him.

“What did I tell you?” Lewis says, pleased with his reaction.

They set out after breakfast in unexpected sunshine, walking to one of the excavated Roman forts along a section of Hadrian’s Wall. The path climbs and dips, overlooking hills and lake, taking them up steep stone steps and down again.

Conversation is easy during the walk; a few passages from the guidebook, a few childhood memories and a couple of irresistible quotes because James is only human after all. 

They end the day in a pub in the nearest village to the B&B. James is foot sore and bewitched. This is the land that produced Robbie Lewis; magnificent, hardy and complex in ways not immediately apparent.

“Well I grew up in Newcastle, of course. A bit different.”

Lewis too is content, at ease, and says for the first time, “Any chance of you calling me something other than ‘sir’ while we’re on holiday?”

“Inspector?”

“I have a first name.”

“It’s Vera, isn’t it?”

“Can you at least try Robbie?”

James gives it a couple of goes, shakes his head, “Nope, it’s not going to work.”

“Well think of something, will you.”

To name something is to own it. Is Lewis inviting him to possess at least something of him? Lewis sees he has got him thinking and looks amused. He sits back, relaxed after the good meal and, when the dishes are cleared away, they watch the slow start to sunset over fresh pints. It is possible James has never been happier. Lewis decides to inject a dose of embarrassment and discomfort into the proceedings. 

“Why are you still single, James?” Lewis asks, continuing a conversation James is sure they have not been having, not out loud at least.

He could evade the question, he has an armoury of evasions to draw on; silent, sarcastic, defensive, aggressive. But he senses he is being asked for a reason; not just out of interest or concern for his welfare.

And it has been the best of days. He has felt so close to Lewis; close enough to touch.

“There isn’t anyone who could match up to you,” he says, holding the man’s gaze.

Lewis hadn’t expected that, the shock is clear on his face, he doesn’t bother to hide it. Yet it can’t truly be a surprise. Not to Lewis who misses nothing, who can discern the faintest pattern in the fabric of the universe as if it were a piece of embroidery nestled in the palm of his hand. Perhaps the surprise is that the admission came so freely.

“James. I need to think.”

“I don’t expect anything from you. You understand that? What we have is enough, it always will be. But you asked.”

“Aye, I did.” Lewis expression is appraising, anxious, curious. It is too much to be subject to that gaze and not be able to know what is behind it.

“But shouldn’t you be with someone you can have a family with? Someone your own age.”

“I’m more than old enough to know what I want.”

“You’re lucky then. If you do know.”

“It’s all right,” James says softly. “This isn’t your responsibility.”

He takes out his cigarette pack and uses it to signal he is going for a smoke. They are already outside but Lewis will understand he needs a quiet moment to recover from what he has done. Whatever happens now, everything has changed; they have scaled the wall and crossed the border into unknown territory. There is no going back.

When he returns Lewis is talking to one of the bar staff who has been round collecting glasses. He has his wallet out and is distractedly showing her photographs of Jack. She beams at James.

“You’ve got a bonny bairn there,” she says.

James says, “You’ll get me into trouble. I’ve never laid a finger on his daughter.”

“Oh!” she says, laughing.

She moves on, unaware of the damage she has done. Lewis looks like a man who has had all his worst fears confirmed. It is already too late; the door that had inched open slams shut.

Lewis soon leaves, saying the walking they’ve done today knackered his back and he’s going to take a bath. James does the only rational thing and switches to spirits.

At closing time he forgets which direction the B&B is in and, by the time he weaves his way home, they have locked up for the night. He is too embarrassed to wake the house by knocking and settles for a bench on the porch. He drifts off to sleep there, wondering what the distant music he can hear is. It is Lewis who wakes him.

“What are you doing out here, man? I was about to send out search and rescue. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Sorry, got lost.”

“On a straight road?”

“Been to Cumbria. S’nice.” His eyes close again. “Had another drink after you left.”

“I can see that. I wish you hadn’t, I wanted to talk to you. Well, it’ll keep.”

“You don’t have to talk to me, not necessary. I’ve already had the conversation in my head.”

“How did it go?”

“Quite badly.”

“I can imagine. Any chance of getting you standing?”

“No, sir.” 

James decides this is a good place to sleep even though his head is resting on air.

He feels Lewis sit down next to him. “You didn’t think of a name then?”

That’s right, he had a task. He had one job.

“When I think of you I think of Lewis. Can I call you Lewis?”

“It is my name. And it’s better than ‘sir’ in Latin or what have you.”

“It is better. It is a good name, it’s my favourite name.”

His head tips back and jolts forward. Then it is suddenly resting on something soft which can’t be Lewis’ sweatshirt. The arm around him can’t be his either.

“I shouldn’t have left like that, should I? You thought I was running away from you. I hurt you. I think I must hurt you a lot without even knowing it. Well, that’s going to stop.” James listens carefully, trying to comprehend. “Truth is, my back was about to go and I didn’t want to be out of action tomorrow. There’s an age difference between us, no use pretending. I was a married man when you were born. Twenty five years is a gap.”

“Twenty three,” James corrects. If numbers are going to be his downfall then at least get them straight. 

“Twenty three, then. You keep me right. And that’s not the half of our problems, is it?”

“Too male, too posh, too Catholic, too sergeant, too sarcastic.”

“That it?”

“Too tall?”

There is a minor tremor as Lewis laughs, “Too clever by half.”

“Forgot that one.”

“My beautiful James,” Lewis says. “You’re daft if you don’t know those are all the things I love about you.”

Lewis’ hand is stroking his hair for a long, silent time during which James cannot breathe. Then Lewis is murmuring a line from, maybe a song.

“When he fancies he’s past love, it is then he meets his last love.” 

The front door opens and still Lewis keeps hold of him.

“Did you find him, Robbie?” It is the landlady. “Oh my word, is he all right?”

“Yes, thanks Jenny, a little too much fresh air, that’s all. We’ll be just a second.”

“Come on, James, up we get.” 

“Do we have to?”

“Afraid so.” 

Lewis follows him up steep, narrow steps to the first floor where the bedrooms are. He retrieves the key from James’ jacket pocket and lets him into his room.

“You can put yourself to bed?”

“Yes, sir.” He thinks back. “Sir? Lewis.”

“Yes.”

“Did you just say –?“

“You heard.”

 

**~**

 

The light is - awfully bright.

James wonders if it is different today. Some kind of northern thing. No, he reflects, it has to be the hangover, the leaden weight behind his eyes.

The landlady had looked amused as he fended off breakfast but did give him aspirin and a tall mug of black coffee. He is outside now with the coffee and first cigarette of the day.

He has found himself a good smoking spot. A stone bench overlooking a ridiculously beautiful stretch of rugged countryside, away from the house and sheltered by a wall made from borrowed bits of Hadrian’s. On the other side of the wall a gang of sheep are shouting their heads off, the sky is clear and the light is - awfully bright.

Lewis comes striding along looking worryingly hale and hearty. He has been for an early walk, correctly surmising James wouldn’t be surfacing for a while.

James blinks him into focus. Clues. He needs clues. He needs to know exactly how badly things have gone wrong. Lewis gives him a warm smile. Whatever he’s done he’s forgiven. Though Lewis has a great capacity for forgiveness.

“Morning,” Lewis says. He nods at the coffee and cigarette. “Not up for the full Northumberland breakfast today?”

“Not up for the full Northumberland Northumberland to be honest.”

“And we’re feeling - ?”

“This wall. Is making a lot of noise.”

He sits down next to James. Close. He sits as close as he always sits. He talks. Where he’s been walking this morning, sketching a plan for the day. A little light waffling to help James with his unease.

Then he sighs and sits back to admire the view. So he’s not going to give anything away then.

“Sir,” James says.

“Lewis,” Lewis corrects. “You were going to call me Lewis.”

“That did happen, then? That’s helpful to know.”

“Anything else I can help with?” 

“I need to have a conversation with you. Lewis. Now I’m sober. Almost sober.”

“I think I can manage that.”

James crushes out his cigarette, rests the mug of coffee briefly against his forehead though it is no longer radiating enough heat to help.

“You seem awfully pleased with yourself. Which leads me to think I ought to be apologising for something.”

“You really don’t remember?” Lewis looks – disappointed.

“I have pictures in my head, there are words, a narrative of sorts. Under normal circumstances I’d call it a memory but, honestly, I can’t trust this one.”

Lewis’ smile returns, “I’ve always found your memory to be quite reliable but for the avoidance of doubt, last night, I told you I loved you.”

“No I -, you-” James stares at him. “Do you still?” 

“Yes James, I still love you even though nine long hours have gone by.”

Lewis leans in and softly, experimentally kisses him. James puts his cup of coffee on the ground, takes Lewis’ face in both hands and kisses him back, properly, for a long time.

 

End

 

February 2016


End file.
